“About your being in love with me.”
“Whether or not it’s a joke that I’m in love with you, it certainly is not a joke that you are in love with me.”
He sat on the arm of his chair and smiled ironically. “Really?” said he.
“Really,” declared she. “Shall I prove it to you?”
He stood. “I’ve no time. It’s very pleasant dawdling here with you, but——”
She ignored his hand, concentrated on his eyes. “What else have you painted besides that picture?” asked she.
He blushed slightly. “I’m very slow at my work.”
Her smile let him know that she was fully aware how heavily she had scored. “You came over to stay here in America,” pursued she. “Yet, you are going back—never to return, you announce. Why?... You’re not going through fear of father. No—don’t pretend. Fear isn’t in your line—fear of men. And you’re not going through fear of me? You could easily bar me out—make it impossible for me to annoy you.”
He had seated himself again. He was listening intently.
“You are going,” she went on, “through fear of yourself.” She laughed softly. “A regular panic, Chang!” she cried. “You didn’t intend to sail till next week. You are running off in the morning—by the first steamer.”